


Winter of '79

by Writcraft



Series: Little Compton Street [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Ambiguous/Open Ending, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bisexual James Potter, Blow Jobs, Closeted Character, Clubbing, Coming Out, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gay Sirius Black, Hand Jobs, Internalised Homophobia, LGBTQ Themes, M/M, Mild References to Homophobic Violence, Pining, Queer Themes, Sex Shop, Sirius Black & James Potter Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2018-11-17
Packaged: 2019-08-25 02:54:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 17,509
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16652917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Writcraft/pseuds/Writcraft
Summary: Post-punk Britain is in the grip of another brutal winter, Thatcher is in power and Muggle gay bars keep getting raided for no reason at all. Sirius just wants to find somewhere to go drinking with the best mate he definitely doesn’t fancy. When they’re directed towards a tatty Soho sex shop during a night out, neither James or Sirius expect to find a magical street that will change their lives forever.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story is a prequel to my Drarry fic [Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/16025378/chapters/37401098). It takes place within the same universe and James and Sirius' night out is explicitly referenced within that story. However, this fic exists as a standalone and there is no need to have any prior knowledge of the Drarry in order to read it. 
> 
> If music is your thing, there is also a seventies inspired playlist for this fic, and you can find that [HERE](https://open.spotify.com/user/writcraft/playlist/7gVpIgU4PUQGlkwCKCC939?si=R7ZJ00lmQeqqhknI6K5ypw) on Spotify. The second chapter, like Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho), contains references and research which expands on some of the LGBTQ themes in the story, rather than forming part of the fic itself. I hope you enjoy the bits of research too, if you like that level of detail.
> 
> Thank you SO MUCH to Dig for being so patient, encouraging and for running this wonderful fest and to A for SPaG checking.

“I think I’d have made a good punk,” James says, handing Sirius a flask.

“Give over.” Sirius takes a swig of the Ogden’s which burns the back of his throat, heating his body from the inside out. He swipes the back of his hand across his mouth and pockets the flask, sinking his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. If anyone’s punk, it’s Sirius. He’s even got a Ramones t-shirt, ripped jeans and his favourite, battered leather jacket to prove it. James, thankfully, decided not to try out the lavender flares he tried to pull off for as long as it took for Sirius to stop laughing. Instead he’s dressed casually in fitted blue jeans with a jumper tucked into the waistband and the sleeves rolled up to the elbows despite the cold weather. James has nice forearms. James has a lot of nice body parts that Sirius has to try not to think about too closely.

“You could be punk if you wanted,” Sirius concedes. He doesn’t want to be an arse when James is indulging him by trawling Soho’s gay bars. He frowns at his own outfit. “Although I’m not sure punk’s the thing anymore. It’s all about that new crowd at The Blitz. The ones with the floppy hair, dancing to Sylvester.”

James pulls a face. “I’m not sure I’m that, either.”

“You don’t have to be.” Sirius slings an arm around James’ shoulder and presses a playful kiss to his hair with an exaggerated smack of his lips. James’ aftershave is woodsy and delicious, and Sirius has to muster all of his strength to pull away instead of tugging James closer against his body. “You’re James bloody Potter, that’s who! Seeker extraordinaire, legendary prankster and the wizard half the witches in Hogwarts—probably some of the wizards too, mind—were in love with. Nobody knows how to carry off a pair of wire-rimmed specs like you.”

James pushes said glasses onto his nose, laughing and shaking his head. “You’re a tit.”

“Thanks.” Sirius grins at James, sweeping his gaze over him. 

James rolls his eyes. “Admiral?” 

“Admiral.” Sirius’ chest gets tight as he shoots James a grateful look. “You don’t mind?”

“Why would I care?” James shrugs, not looking at Sirius.

“It’s a gay bar, Jamie.”

“I got that when a bloke that looked like Freddie Mercury offered to take me home to suck my cock.” James grins at Sirius. “I still think I should have said yes. He might have been good at it.”

Sirius doesn’t think now’s the time to point out that he’s pretty good at it himself. Things have been weird with James ever since he and Lily took a break—whatever that means—and James moved in to the small, two-bed flat Sirius rents in Camden using his Uncle Alphard’s cash. Sirius has a certain way of doing things, and James might be happy enough drinking at the Admiral, but it’s not the same as awkward cups of tea in the morning when Sirius is trying to get Fred or John or Bill or whoever the fuck out of his flat so he can go back to bed and sleep off his hangover. Sirius goes to pubs with James and even took him to see a drag queen singing Shirley Bassey at the Royal Vauxhall Tavern, but he saves the cruisier clubs for nights when he’s by himself, heading to Earl’s Court for a few drinks at The Coleherne before continuing the night at an underground club or one of the growing number of leather bars where a very different kind of scene exists. Sirius can’t imagine showing James that part of his world. It’s almost as if he wants to keep the _sex_ out of homosexuality when he’s talking to James. Keep it safe, keep it clean, keep it hidden. Even when Sirius pretends he doesn’t give a fuck what people think, there’s something about eyeing other men up as he leans against a shadowy wall with the electronic twang of music thrumming through his head that makes him wonder if it’s always going to be like this. If he’s always going to have to live in the shadows of bars his friends don’t know exist. 

It’s becoming even harder to maintain a modicum of discretion now James is suddenly everywhere, demanding to go out and get pissed at _one of those clubs of yours_. Sirius isn’t sure James really gets it and he’s not sure he wants him to, particularly as he gets sullen and withdrawn when one of Sirius’ men try to make polite conversation. It’s starting to make Sirius wonder if James isn’t quite as cool with Sirius being into other blokes as he professed to be. 

“Come on, then. The Admiral Duncan it is.” Sirius leads the way, winding through the bustling streets of Soho and nudging James with his shoulder. “Thanks.”

“It’s fine.” James glances at Sirius out of the corner of his eye. “Fancy one of those clubs of yours later?”

“We’ll see.” That usually means _no_ and they both know it, but Sirius doesn’t want to wipe the eager smile from James’ face. He slings a casual arm over James’ shoulder again, the easy proximity feeling decidedly less casual than it usually does. “Love you, J.”

“Yeah.” James sounds serious, his arm squeezing around Sirius’ waist. “Love you too.”

They lose themselves in the crowds of seedy Soho and make a beeline for Old Compton Street.

*

Sirius is queuing for a third pint when a man pushes close to Sirius at the bar, jostling him.

“Watch it.”

“Sorry, darling. No harm intended.” The man looks around, seemingly skittish. It makes Sirius’ stomach flip, because he knows the police like to raid the bars sometimes. There’s something out of place about the man drumming his fingers on the bar, something that doesn’t quite fit right. He looks around as if he doesn’t want to be heard and then leans into Sirius, his breath carrying the strong scent of menthol cigarettes and booze. “You’re just like me, aren’t you?”

“Gay?” Sirius snorts and nods his head. “Yeah, but I’m not interested.”

“Neither am I, don’t get your wand in a knot.” The man gives Sirius a pointed look. “I meant you’re a _wizard_ , you pillock.”

“Oh.” Sirius relaxes, the man’s shifty behaviour becoming clear. “I don’t recognise you.”

“You wouldn’t. I’m not from these parts. Would have been a decade or two between us at school, I’d warrant.” The man orders a pint of ale and takes a gulp, licking the froth from his lips and letting out a sigh of pleasure. “Look, I think it’s going to be a rough one tonight. Police are everywhere now, and there’s some National Front rally going on tomorrow so there’s a lot of them in London this evening. It might not be safe.”

The strange, uncomfortable feeling returns and Sirius looks around, as if a group of skinheads are suddenly going to barge into a pub to try to take on hundreds of punters. “Nobody else seems bothered.”

“Maybe they’re not.” The man shrugs. “I just wanted to let you know you have options if that kind of thing bothers you.”

Sirius isn't sure what to say, because of course slurs yelled in his direction and hate-filled graffiti on the the walls bothers him. Even if he can easily defend himself with spells, Sirius doesn't much fancy testing the Ministry's views on homosexuality when it seems to be as much of a dirty word in the wizarding world as the Muggle one. It might not carry the same kind of overt criminal sanctions, but he doesn't want to put the Ministry's unpredictable rule of law to the test. He stares across the bar at James, who gives him a curious look. His heart clenches at the thought of anything happening to James because Sirius put him in a dangerous situation. It shouldn't be so hard to go out drinking in the kind of place that men meet other men, and most of the time Sirius doesn't even think about it. With this wizard in his ear reminding Sirius that things aren't as easy as he sometimes lets himself believe a few drinks in however, he can't help the gnawing sense of guilt that creeps up on him as he ponders the _what ifs_. He doesn't think he could stand putting James in a position that might get them both in trouble, however capable James is of protecting himself.

“What options are these?” Sirius still isn't sure he trusts the stranger, even if he probably isn't much of a threat if he's in a Muggle gay bar talking about Hogwarts. The increasing unrest in the wizarding world has taught Sirius to be distrustful of those closest to him, let alone people he doesn't know. He's on his guard now, more than ever.

The man gives Sirius a smile and leans closer. “You know the sex shop over the road?”

Sirius narrows his eyes. “The bookshop?”

The man rolls his eyes. “Oh come on, we both know what's downstairs. _Relax_ , darling, you’re really not my type. Slytherin, I’m guessing. You look the sort.”

Sirius wants to punch whoever-he-is square in the nose. “ _No_ ,” he says through gritted teeth. “Gryffindor, actually.”

The man looks him up and down. “You look like you’re from one of those posh wizarding families. You and that mate of yours. Sound like it, too.”

Sirius glares and folds his arms, wishing not for the first time his Home Counties accent would fuck the fuck off and let him become a convincing Cockney. “You don’t know anything about me.”

“No.” The man looks around to make sure nobody's listening and speaks in an urgent whisper. “Look, the shop’s closed by now but it’s always open to our lot. An Alohomora will do the trick. Go down the stairs and you’ll see a curtain at the back of the shop, by the whips and chains if you and that pretty-looking pal of yours are into that kind of thing. You want to go through the curtain and you’ll find a neon sign. _Girls, Girls, Girls_ , it says.” The man winks at Sirius. “Tap the arrow with your wand, and voila! Just like Diagon Alley.”

“I don’t believe you.” Sirius frowns. “I would have heard about it.”

“Then don’t believe me.” The man turns his eyes to the heavens. “Ungrateful sod, you are. I've just given you the keys to Little Compton Street. It's much better than anywhere in Muggle London. See for yourself, if you want. If not, you can just wait around like the rest of them for that super club in Charing Cross to finally open and hope they don't put you in Azkaban for Avada Kedavra-ing someone for looking at you funny in the street.”

Sirius stares at the man, suddenly desperate to believe him, even if there's a niggling part of his brain that can't help but think it's a trap. The idea of a magical street free from Muggle laws that he doesn't really understand would be a welcome relief. Some people tell him things are better now, others say they're actually worse. He's never quite sure what he should be doing, what he shouldn't be doing and where he should draw the line. It's difficult to know how reckless is too reckless when you don't have half of the information you probably should.

“Why aren’t _you_ there, if it's so brilliant?”

The wizard shrugs. “It’s nice to have a change of scenery every once in a while. I like being Muggle for a night. It feels very daring, putting the wand away for an evening. Anyway, I've exhausted a lot of the options on Little Compton Street.” He glances at James. “If your friend's up for a tumble, though...”

“He's not.” Sirius tries not to growl. “He's straight.”

The wizard pulls a face. “How frightfully dull. Terrible waste, too.” He waggles his fingers at Sirius, waving him goodbye. “Ta ta.”

Sirius mumbles goodbye and grabs the two pints of lager, shoving his way through the crowds to James.

“Pulled, did you?” James looks at Sirius with an air of judgment. It’s the one rule of their nights out together. Sirius doesn’t fuck off and leave James by himself. Sirius would be put out about it, if James hadn’t turned down plenty of witches in the past to carry on the night getting drunk and stupid with Sirius.

“No. Jealous?” Sirius winks at James.

“Hardly.” James takes a quick gulp of his beer and it almost looks like he’s blushing. “He seemed…different.”

Sirius laughs, because the man definitely wasn’t his usual type and James has seen enough of those by now to have some inkling of what Sirius goes for. “Nope.” He leans back against the wall, his head whirring. “He was a wizard. He clocked me right away.”

“Can people do that?” James frowns, looking around as if he expects someone to jump out of the crowd in Hufflepuff Quidditch gear, asking James for tips on how to win the House Cup by catching the Snitch.

“Dunno. Suppose they can.” Sirius takes a sip of his pint. “It's probably a bit like I have to know if someone’s properly giving me the eye or if I'm one proposition away from getting my lights punched out.”

James winces. “Don’t say that.” He sounds worried and Sirius’ heart gives a stupid, fond kick at the thought of James looking out for him.

“Why not.” Sirius shrugs. “It’s true.” He makes it sound flippant, as if it’s easy to walk through life with the undercurrent of something violent and threatening lurking beneath the surface. _Queer bashers_ , the Muggles call them. The only time Sirius has been close to violating the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy is when he left a club alone, drunk and exhausted. The pavements were slick with rain, and the sky thick with thunderclouds that blotted out the stars. Sirius knew he was being followed. When he started to run, the footsteps from faceless assailants splashed and thudded in the puddles behind him. He got just enough of a lead to dive into an alley and Apparate before they could turn the corner. He nearly splinched himself, doing that. Sirius doesn’t think about that often. About the way things might have turned out if he didn’t have magic on his side. He whispers a low _fuck you_ to whoever the men were—waiting in the shadows to attack anyone different. Hatred of homophobes burns almost as brightly within Sirius as his hatred of Death Eaters. 

A few months after the near miss, Sirius told James after too much Ogden’s that he was glad he wasn’t _one of those camp queens_ that get picked on the most. The ones that can't hide who they are the way Sirius can. He felt like a shit for days afterwards, and can't help but feel that James wasn't impressed in the slightest. Sirius is no less gay just because he has a flying motorbike and spent half his time at Hogwarts wolf-whistling at Ravenclaw witches, building up an image of himself as some kind of heterosexual heart-breaker. It's just that sometimes, Sirius doesn’t want to be different. He's so sick of breaking all the rules, it came as something of a surprise to discover that rule-breaking streak would extend to sex, too. Even when every bone in his body rebels against the kind of _normal_ his parents advocate for, there are moments when Sirius craves something easy. Something that doesn't feel so difficult. Being gay in the wizarding world might not be illegal, but it's not exactly acceptable behaviour. At least the Muggle world has bars and clubs, the wizarding world doesn’t even have that. It's not even underground. It's just invisible. At least, that's what Sirius always thought.

James looks curiously at Sirius as if he's wondering what's going through his mind. “What was his name?”

“No idea.” Sirius shakes himself from his thoughts and turns his full attention back to James. “He said there’s a place called Little Compton Street. Somewhere like this, but just for our lot. Like Diagon Alley.”

James shakes his head, his eyes wide. He nudges his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. “No chance. We’d know about it.” He puffs his chest out. “We’re the _Marauders_ , Padfoot. We know every secret passageway in Hogwarts, and half the ones outside it. We’d have heard about it.”

Sirius takes another gulp of his beer, his mind racing. It's classic James, thinking there's no space that might be closed off to him. “Maybe not. Who’s going to tell us, if everyone that goes wants to keep it secret? You’ve spent most of your time pining over Evans and everyone thinks I’m off shagging any witch with a pretty smile.”

James laughs under his breath. When he looks up, his eyes are shining. “Are we going to go exploring?”

Sirius drains half of his pint in one and clinks his glass with James'. “You’d better believe it.”

Sirius' chest warms with the thought of exploring with James. His heart gives a restless thump, and he tries not to dwell too closely on the fact that any opportunity to discover secret things with James fills him with wild excitement. It's just like the good old days. Sirius takes a minute to look James up and down, when he's busy fiddling with his belt, not paying Sirius any mind.

 _I'm glad that it's you,_ Sirius thinks. _I'm glad that I get to do this with you_.

James looks up at Sirius with a wide smile, and Sirius wonders if he's thinking the same thing.

“To old times,” Sirius says.

“Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot and Prongs.” James tips his glass towards Sirius. “The Marauders.”

“Yeah.” A dark ball of sadness for the way their tight-knit group has shifted and changed gathers in Sirius' chest and he swallows it back with another glug of his lager. “The Marauders.” 

*

There's something thrilling about trying to break into a Muggle sex shop at Merlin knows what time, and every whoop and holler from the street outside has Sirius glancing over his shoulder, despite the fact they're under a temporary charm which should make them as inconspicuous as Hogwarts to the Muggle eye. He heaves a sigh of relief when the door to The Soho Bookshop opens easily, stepping tentatively inside and closing the door behind them as quickly as he can. Sirius half expects alarms to start blaring or the blue flash and wail of a police car to stop him and James in their tracks. Sirius breathes out a whispered _thank you_ to a god he doesn't believe in and promptly trips over James who comes to a stop directly in front of Sirius.

“What the _fuck_ , J?” Sirius hisses.

“Sorry.” James turns to face Sirius. He’s so close, his breath is warm against Sirius’ skin. He looks at Sirius with bright eyes. “Is this really a sex shop?”

“It really is.” Sirius nudges James towards the flickering light which directs them downstairs. “But all the good stuff is down there. It's just books up here.”

“Have you been here before?”

“Once or twice.” Sirius is starting to feel uncomfortable, the way he does when James asks questions about his sex life. Sirius usually gets quite prudish when James starts looking for details, because the sad truth of it is those conversations with James have a tendency to leave Sirius half-hard and desperately confused. “Stop being such a nosy bugger.”

“Why don’t you ever talk about that stuff with me?”

“ _Because_.” That’s as good a reason as Sirius is giving James. He's just going to have to put up with it. 

They make their way downstairs, pausing only when the sweep of car headlights threatens to reveal their presence. They finally get safely out of view, and Sirius looks around the familiar space. Towards the back of the room is the dark curtain, just where the stranger at the Admiral Duncan said it would be. Sirius can't believe he's never noticed it before. He supposes he can be forgiven when the shop is a treasure-trove of distracting things, but still. The curtain billows invitingly despite there being no breeze in the small, quiet shop and the air is electric with the hum of magic. The basement would be pitch black but for the eerie glow of neon lighting filtering underneath the curtain. It casts a hot pink light over the room, sending long shadows up the wall and illuminating everything just enough that Sirius can make out various toys. He sighs when James stops again, folding his arms and effectively stopping Sirius in his tracks.

“That’s not a reason,” James says. He sounds put out about something.

“What the fuck are you on about?” 

“Saying _because_ isn't a proper reason. We talk about everything. Why not this?” James waves his hand around the shop, as if Sirius is an expert in every single one of the Muggle sex toys. 

Sirius glares at James. “Do I ask about your sex life with Lily?”

James rolls his eyes. “Yes, actually.”

“Asking if you’re still a virgin doesn’t count.”

James looks mutinous, clenching his jaw as he stares at Sirius, his eyes flashing. “You don’t like witches, you’d ask all kinds of stupid shit if you did and you know it.”

There’s an element of truth to the fact that Sirius has no desire to learn about the finer details of cunnilingus, but it’s not as if he’s going to react with horror if someone says the word _vagina_ in front of him. The reason he doesn’t want details of what James does in bed with other people is far more complicated than witch-related squeamishness, not that he plans to tell James that. 

“Well you don’t like blokes, so it’s the same thing, isn’t it?”

James stares at Sirius for a moment, his chest heaving. A strange expression crosses his face and he pushes his unruly hair back from his forehead. His fingers shake as he does so, and Sirius’ heart begins to beat more quickly in his chest, a dull roar making everything else fade into the background.

“I might.” James lets out a shaky breath, his cheeks clearly flushed even in the strange, pink glow in the room. His voice is stiff, and he stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “I might want to know.”

Sirius licks his lips, his throat dry as he tries to swallow. “What are you saying?”

“I don’t know.” James scuffs the toe of his trainer on the carpet, not meeting Sirius’ gaze. “I’m…curious.”

“Oh.” Sirius has so many questions and he doesn’t know how to ask a single one of them. “About anything in particular?”

“How it works.” James looks across at the shelf of toys and his eyes flick over them as if he hasn’t seen anything like it before, which maybe he hasn’t. “What you like to do.”

“I need a drink,” Sirius mutters. He puts a hand on James’ arm, and he’s surprised to find that his skin is hot to the touch. “Let’s see if that bloke was having us on. If he’s right, there’s booze on the other side of that curtain. Get me a drink and I’ll answer anything you want.”

“Really?” James brightens and he meets Sirius’ gaze at last. He’s got the same cocky look he gets when he’s about to walk into a situation that makes him nervous. Sirius can see right through him. He gives Sirius a slow smile. “You’ll do anything for a cocktail. Tart.”

“Two drinks and I’m anyone’s.” Sirius winks at James, trying to push down the giddy flutter of excitement that wells within him. Taking a deep breath, he walks past James and flings open the curtain at the back of the room, proud of his dramatic flair. He grins when he sees the neon sign which is exactly like the bloke in the pub described. “Well I never.”

“It’s real.” James shifts next to Sirius and takes out his wand. “Can you feel it?”

“Yeah.” _Magic_. The air thrums with it, like the echo of a far-off song. The small space vibrates with magical energy. It’s warm and inviting and Sirius can almost taste its brilliant colours. The tiny area hums and buzzes like the most magical parts of Hogwarts. It’s nothing like the dark, restless corners of Grimmauld Place that Sirius used to avoid. The ones that would send Reggie fleeing, crawling into bed with Sirius and his stuffed dragon, putting his thumb in his mouth and pressing his little body against Sirius like a hot water bottle. 

_Regulus_. A wave of sadness overwhelms Sirius, as he remembers the bright spark in Reggie’s eyes when he was little. He never expected a gulf to tear them apart, widening with every day as Reggie became more involved with his bastard Slytherins and Sirius ranted and raved against everything his parents believed to be true. Sirius tried to hate Reggie, but no amount of futile anger could extinguish the small, affectionate flame which burns brightly in Sirius’ heart whenever he thinks of the two young boys that never really had a chance. Sirius will always remember 1979 as the year he lost his brother and his father in quick succession and pretended not to care about either death. He held his own funeral for Reggie, banned from attending the official ceremony. He burned a photograph with a match and a splash of Ogden’s and watched as Reggie’s sharp, angular face turned to ashes. 

“Okay, Padfoot?” James pulls Sirius from his thoughts, putting a warm hand on Sirius’ back. The gentle touch makes him shiver and he nods, swallowing around the lump in his throat.

“Yeah. I’m okay.” Sirius shoots James a smile in the hope it might mask his watery eyes which sting with unshed tears. He squeezes James' hand briefly before releasing it and pushes his dark thoughts to one side to let the bright magic surround him, drawing on the energy of the enclosed area. The neon light flickers invitingly, as if it’s just been waiting just for them. Perhaps 1979 can be a year Sirius remembers for something other than death and the cold promise of a war, creeping ever closer. “Do you want to do it?”

James looks at the neon sign doubtfully, then shakes his head. It’s unlike James, who can be bold, brave and arrogant to the point of reckless.

“No,” he says, softly. “I think it’s your thing. The sign might not let me in.”

Sirius snorts. “You think you’re not gay enough for the magic to work?”

“I don’t know what I am.” James’ voice is rough and he pockets his wand, rubbing his hands together. “Come on, Padfoot. Just do it, will you? The suspense is killing me.”

Sirius decides to let James’ half-confession slide, desperate to get through to a place where he can use booze to distract himself from thoughts of kissing James. He pulls his wand from his pocket and advances towards the sign. A strange, nervous excitement grips him. It’s like the first time he followed a crowd of men down the steps into a cellar to find a tiny, smoky club with strobe lights and the kind of music that made him want to dance, kiss and fuck. He never wanted the music to stop, that night. He remembers sitting in the back of a Muggle taxi with a man called George—gorgeous, tight white t-shirt wearing George, whose moustache tickled when he kissed Sirius. George and his tiny flat in Paddington, who made Sirius come twice that night and made him a cup of lukewarm, sweet tea in the morning, asking Sirius about his family. Even on a night when Sirius was more out than he’d ever been, he realised he would always have to lie. To his friends about the details of his sex life, to the Muggles about being a wizard.

Sirius takes a breath and taps his wand against the arrow at the base of the sign. For a minute, nothing happens. He shoves his wand back in his pocket and frowns at the wall, wondering if he’s done something wrong. Perhaps Little Compton Street doesn’t like people who make shitty comments about queens and can’t be honest with their friends. Perhaps the magic knows what Sirius feels for James and judges him for it. _No entry, Sir. There’s no place for you here. There’s no place for you anywhere. You’re going to spend a lifetime trying to find somewhere called home_.

Just as he’s about to give up, there’s a shudder. James mutters a curse under his breath and like well-oiled clockwork the wall slides open to reveal lights, bright flashes of colour and a street heaving with people. The small space fills with the low buzz of chatter, the heady thrum of music and the pulse of magical energy.

Sirius closes his eyes and steps through the gap, reaching back and pulling James through with him.

*

Stepping out onto Little Compton Street is like discovering magic for the first time. It has the vibrant beauty of Hogwarts when viewed through the lens of an eager first year entering their new temporary home. The thrill that passes through Sirius’ body makes his skin tingle like the satisfaction of successfully casting a new spell. The magical doorway to Soho Bookshop closes behind them and Sirius takes everything in, not wanting to miss a single detail.

The street in front of them is narrow and cobbled, fully enclosed by brickwork which stretches up on either side and meets in the middle to form a cosy arch. There’s a restless buzz to the place with people milling around outside bars and Muggle music pulsing in the air. Sirius was half expecting something terrible like The Hungry Hippogriffs or Scorpius and the Slytherins. To find that Muggle music can play in magical spaces is a new, unexpected pleasure and it gives Little Compton Street a sense of comfortable familiarity, whilst setting it entirely apart from Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade. You’d never catch them playing Queen in Madam Malkins. It’s all dull classical music composed by the kind of long-dead wizards that Walburga and Orion used to love.

Everywhere Sirius turns there’s something new to see. A bright rainbow flag that looks brand new flutters above a busy bar called The Joiner’s Arms. The brickwork is dotted with candles which cast an inviting warmth into the space, reminding Sirius of going to watch James fly just before sunset. The bricks of Little Compton Street take on the same hue of Hogwart's on a lazy summer's afternoon, the walls drinking in the burnished reds and oranges of the sun’s afterglow. Sirius laughs under his breath as he tips his head back to take in the bright silk ribbons of all different colours that flutter and twist from the arched roof. Upside-down umbrellas in a wide variety of reds, oranges, yellows, blues and greens, hang suspended in the air, kept in place by magic. The arches buzz with the same welcoming, magical energy that Sirius felt in the Soho Bookshop. The air hums and vibrates with it, the tendrils of magic wrapping around Sirius like a warm hug. _Welcome home_ , the magic seems to say. A burst of unexpected pride assaults Sirius’ senses as he breathes in every last bit of magic. People dance together to the music which thumps and tumbles through the air. Without thinking too deeply about it, Sirius reaches for James and twines their fingers together. James’ palm is clammy where Sirius’ is warm. For a minute, Sirius contemplates yanking his hand away but then James squeezes, as if he knows Sirius can’t quite speak at the moment. Little Compton Street is the kind of place Sirius thought he could only ever visit in dreams and the solid, reassuring pressure of James' hand in his own just makes everything a little bit better, a little more surreal.

The darkness of his family’s reaction to Sirius leaving home comes back to him in a flash. The memory of it tastes bitter and metallic on Sirius’ tongue and he clings onto James for comfort. He draws on the laughter and the music vibrating beneath their feet to give himself strength and tugs James closer. Instinctively, he buries his face in James’ messy mop of inky black hair, and breathes in the familiar scent of him. Soap, citrus and expensive, musky, Muggle cologne that he got from a market in Camden when he decided he wanted to buy the pair of Doc Martens he wore to death during the last couple of years at Hogwarts. James holds onto Sirius just as tightly, turning in the circle of his arms until it’s just the two of them caught in a fierce hug that feels different to all the other hugs they’ve shared over the years. _We two boys together, clinging_ , Sirius thinks. It’s from a dog-eared book of poetry Moony used to thumb through when he was supposed to be revising for Potions or Arithmancy. The reminder of Remus makes Sirius strangely sad. He used to be everything to Sirius and now there’s a distance between them that feels insurmountable. That’s the fucked-up thing about war. It makes you question everyone around you, even your best friends. Not James, though. Sirius tightens his grip, sinking into the hug. Never James.

Eventually they break apart and push their way into the nearest pub, The Joiner’s Arms. 

“They do house shots!” James looks flushed and exited, pointing to a menu with pictures of a vast selection of brightly coloured shots. “I’m going to get one of each.”

Sirius pulls a face. “No Slippery Slytherin for me. I’ll stick with the Randy Ravenclaw, Hung Hufflepuff and Gryffin Dear.” 

“So boring.” James rolls his eyes and leans forward, ordering seven shots and two frothy pints of lager which are served in plastic pint cups and put unceremoniously on the bar, the liquid spilling over the sides onto the sticky bar. James hands over some cash and then tips a violent green shot towards Sirius. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” Sirius grins as James throws back the shot, pulling a _bleugh_ face after swallowing the contents of the glass. “Any good?”

“Tastes like slime.” James shudders and picks the deep burgundy shot instead, drinking that in one. His disgusted expression relaxes, and he licks his lips. Sirius tries not to stare at the way his tongue leaves his lips plump and shiny, as if they’re inviting a kiss. “Much better.”

“Of course it is. Gryffindor rules!” Sirius picks up his own Gryffin Dear and downs it. It tastes like cinnamon and sticky, syrupy sponge. It’s delicious and mercifully doesn’t seem half as alcoholic as the Firewhisky shots they do at The Three Broomsticks. The Randy Ravenclaw tastes like blueberries and the Hung Hufflepuff has the pleasing, cool sweetness of vanilla custard. He grabs his lager and gestures for James to follow him, pushing his way through the crowds and finding a quiet selection of seats towards the back of the bar. With a sigh of contentment, he settles into a seat and waits for James to join him “Do you reckon the Aurors come here?”

“Dunno.” James shrugs and glances at Sirius. “Like the Muggle police?”

“Yeah.” Sirius nods, looking around for signs of Ministry officials. There’s no one. Everybody looks happy and content. The dancing is just as terrible as it is in the Muggle clubs, but there’s an air of defiant freedom that grips the place. It makes Sirius’ heart soar and he swallows around the lump in his throat, chasing away the peculiar, gnawing sense of something fleeting that threatens to overwhelm him. _There’s a war coming,_ his mind niggles. He has a desperate urge to cling onto this one night forever, cocooned in the warmth of a magical gay bar full of people just like him. 

“I got you drinks,” James says, boldly. He holds Sirius’ gaze and his fingers curl into a fist on his leg, before unfurling again. “Which means you have to hold up your end of the bargain.”

Sirius pulls a face, because honestly, he’s not sure where to start. He can’t help the crawling prickle of unease beneath his skin, or entirely forget the words like _deviant_ and _pervert_ that he sees all over the Muggle tabloids. Homosexuality might not be a crime in the wizarding world—or the Muggle one anymore—but it’s still something that happens in the shadows. At least there are people fighting against that in the Muggle world. It feels as though everyone in the wizarding one is just hiding away in a space most people don’t even know exists. There’s still the same sense of hedonistic liberation that exists in the Muggle bars. It’s almost as if the people of Little Compton Street expect the safety of the space to be taken away from them, just as Muggles seem to expect those hard-won freedoms to be snatched away tomorrow. The Muggle world and the wizarding one might be very different, but their gay bars are both still full of people dancing to draw the night out for as long as possible before they disappear like ghosts as soon as the sun comes up, retreating into places where music doesn't sound half as good as it does when you're clutching on to the promise of the night.

“What do you want to know?” The booze makes Sirius feel reckless and warm and despite his uncertainties his gut tells him that he can trust James not to react with horror or disgust if he starts oversharing.

James clears his throat. “I assume you’ve done it?”

“ _It_?” Sirius raises his eyebrows at James. “I’ve fucked and been fucked before, if that’s what you’re asking. I don't invite those men over for polite conversation.”

“Who was the first?” James looks wide-eyed, the lights in the pub catching on his glasses where Sirius can see the shadow of himself reflected.

“Chap called George. A Muggle.” Sirius gestures to his lip. “He had a moustache.”

“Oh.” James stares at Sirius’ lips and then looks up again with a grin. “Sexy.”

“Very.” Sirius grins back and has a sip of his pint. “That it?”

“Not even close.” James swipes a hand through his hair, messing it up. He looks like a hedgehog sometimes with his hair wiry and untamed. A very attractive hedgehog, admittedly. “Did he fuck you?”

Sirius nods. “Yeah. I didn’t know what the bloody hell I was doing.”

“Was it good?”

Sirius shrugs. “It was okay. Hurt a bit.”

“Yeah.” James frowns. “George sounds like a prick.”

“It wasn’t his fault. I was nervous. That didn’t help.” Sirius gives James a half-smile. “Plenty of lube makes it easier. He didn’t forget to use it or anything shit like that.”

“Lube.” James ponders that, tapping his finger against his lips as if he’s thinking. “Good to know. Do you prefer fucking or being fucked?”

Sirius shakes his head, a fond ball of affection swelling in his chest. “I'm not that bothered, as long as I get off. Why do you care, Jamie?”

James runs his tongue over his lips and holds Sirius’ gaze. “Because.” He pauses, and his voice gets rough as he shifts closer to Sirius, his hand warm and firm on Sirius’ leg. “I want to know what makes you feel good. Just in case.”

Sirius bites back a groan and brushes James’ hair from his forehead, drinking in the strangely earnest way he looks at Sirius. “In case of what?”

“In case you’re interested.”

“What about Lily?” Part of Sirius wants to be recklessly selfish, but he also wants to know what the fuck James is thinking. James is _straight_ for a start. At least Sirius always assumed he was. Now he’s not so sure.

“You know we’re not together at the minute.” James looks away, frowning. “We’re free to do our own thing.”

“Is that what she’s been doing?” A wave of annoyance crashes over Sirius and he glares at James. “Am I _revenge_?”

“ _No_ , you pillock.” James sighs, twisting his hands together. “It’s complicated.”

“Try to explain it.”

“I think I like men too.” James meets Sirius’ gaze again, his chin jutting in defiance as if daring Sirius to challenge him. “I know I do.”

“ _How_?” A flash of jealousy spikes through Sirius at the thought of James off experimenting with other men. It’s a bit hypocritical of him, on account of the fact he's been doing a significant amount of shagging around himself, but he can’t help it. When James was an impossibility, Sirius trained himself to get used to the witches that came and went and the ones—like Lily—that stuck around. He’s surprised by the powerful feelings that assault him when he realises James isn’t as out of reach as he always thought. Jealousy, desire, a reckless, giddy, happiness, a burst of protectiveness, and the affection that always hums beneath the surface whenever he's with James. The conflicting emotions race through him and Sirius swallows thickly, waiting for James to answer. He never, not once, considered the possibility that James might like witches _and_ wizards. Like the discovery of Little Compton Street, it opens up a whole new raft of possibilities that make Sirius’ heart pound in his chest.

“How did you know you liked wizards?” James rolls his eyes. “I haven’t put it into practice if that’s what you’re wondering. Does that mean I’m not?” 

Sirius thinks back to his thirteen-year-old self, pinning pictures of Hollywood starlets to his wall with copies of _Quidditch Quarterly_ in a box under his bed with the couple of well-thumbed copies of _Gay News_ he managed to get from Muggle shops. He shakes his head. “No, darling.” Sirius has never called James _darling_ before. He’s never called anyone darling before. It feels right in all the wrong ways. “It doesn’t mean you’re not.”

James’ eyes widen at the ‘darling,’ a small sound catching in the back of his throat as he looks at Sirius. Sirius knows in that moment he's impossibly, stupidly in love with James. Perhaps he always has been. The realisation makes his stomach flip and he tries not to blurt it out. He’s crossing all sorts of lines and he knows it, but he can’t bring himself to care. He's hardly even surprised by the force of his feelings. It's as if they've always been there, bubbling under the surface with relentless inevitability. If he and James can stay in this surreal, bright, happy place, Sirius lets himself believe that everything is—somehow—going to be okay.

“I think it’s called bisexual. Like Bowie,” James says. James loves Bowie and poured over the copy of _Playboy_ Sirius nicked from a Muggle newsagent three years ago, when they were still at Hogwarts. Sirius assumed James was into it because of all the pretty girls. He never thought Bowie’s interview was the reason James kept the dog-eared copy under his mattress for years. 

“Yeah, you’re just like Bowie, J.” Sirius laughs softly, but not with any malice. He tries to picture James as Ziggy Stardust and it just makes him laugh harder.

“Shut up, Padfoot. Don’t be a twat.” James grins, the tension easing a little. He takes a gulp of his drink and then looks at Sirius, the silence hanging in the air between them. “Would you?” James shifts closer to Sirius until they’re shoulder to shoulder, thigh to thigh. His voice lowers, husky and full of reckless promise. “If I wanted it, would you be my first?”

Sirius picks up his pint with shaking hands and takes a steadying drink, the dryness in his throat suddenly unbearable.

He doesn’t say as much out loud, but his heart pounds _yes, yes, yes_ as the sound of the disco sirens soars into the empty space around them.

*

The air is thick with tension when they leave The Joiner’s Arms. Sirius doesn’t think he’s ever wanted anyone in his life as much as he wants James. He has to keep reminding himself that even if James and Lily aren’t together right now, they probably will be again. He wonders if this is why James always looked so put out by the boys drinking tea in the kitchen after their nights with Sirius. Part of Sirius wants to say _fuck it_ and drag James back to Camden for a thorough shag, but the other part of him can’t help but feel that without the magic of Little Compton Street the strange, fragile spell that keeps them swaying ever closer to one another might be broken.

They move together through the winding streets past bustling bars and shops selling leather paraphernalia, lube, and t-shirts with _We’re here, we’re queer_ on the front. A couple of posters with women kissing and placards containing statements like _butch is beautiful_ and _Merlin loves lipstick lesbians_ nestle side by side. A row of hats proclaiming _kiss me quick, fuck me slowly_ sit outside one shop, the letters glittering with some kind of magical charm. Sirius puts one on and adopts a januty pose, while James pisses himself laughing, thumbing through a selection of postcards next to the hats. They’re not magical and the scenes in them are static and still. There’s a picture of a bar called The Stonewall Inn, a grainy photograph of an area in San Francisco called the Castro District and shots of famous Muggles that Sirius doesn’t fully recognise. He purchases one card with a picture of Old Compton Street on a cold, rainy day on the front, and puts it carefully in his pocket. No matter how long he lives, he’s never going to forget Old Compton Street, with its Muggle bars and the secret, magical place it hides underneath its pavements.

“First timers?” A young man with jet black hair and a friendly smile extends his hand for shaking after pocketing Sirius' cash. 

“You could say that.” Sirius shakes his hand and smiles back, shifting closer to James when he sees he’s being glared at. It’s so stupid that James would be jealous even for a moment, because Sirius can barely focus on a conversation knowing what James wants from him, let alone think about pulling anybody else. “This is James. I’m Sirius.”

“Nice to meet you.” If their names register, the man doesn’t show it. “I’m Jonathan Ashton. Most people call me Jon.” 

“Any good spots for dancing here?” Sirius asks. He notices all the badges on Jon’s denim jacket, including one which says Gay Pride 1979. Sirius read about that in the papers. More police than Muggles. He didn’t end up going because it felt all wrong to throw himself into a fight that wasn’t his own. Now, he regrets it. He wonders how many other people from Little Compton Street went, and why he would so easily assume that the way the Muggle world treats gay people might not filter down to the wizarding world with the same kind of insidious intent, filling minds and hearts with words like _wrong_ , _abnormal_ and _pervert_ like small drops of poison.

“You want The Sundowner. Best place in town.” Jon winks at them both, giving James a quick look up and down that makes Sirius bristle. It’s probably not brilliant that he’s getting so territorial over James, but honestly, Sirius is past caring whether or not going down this path is another one of those bad decisions he’s fond of making. He might be starting to understand why James always looks so pissed when Sirius parades a steady stream of beautiful boys around on those mornings after the night before. He wants to say sorry to James, because he didn't think. He didn't think for one _minute_. If he had, he wouldn't have been half as bothered with anyone else.

“Brilliant. Thanks.” James seems unusually bashful, caught in the dizzying light of Jon’s smile and with a snort, Sirius ushers him away with a quick wave and nod of thanks.

“Come on, Romeo.”

“You don’t let me have any fun,” James teases.

“I might later. As long as it’s fun with me.” Sirius squeezes James’ shoulder, very aware that he’s flirting, which is new. From the broad grin James gives him, it doesn’t seem as though he minds, so Sirius decides not to overthink it.

As they exit the busy alley, the area opens into a huge courtyard, filled with people. Just as he did when he first stepped into Little Compton Street, Sirius stops in his tracks. It seems James is equally taken aback, as he looks around, his lips parted in silent wonderment. Unlike the arched enclosures of Little Compton Street, the courtyard feels as though it’s open air, even though the sky is undoubtedly as false as the one above the Great Hall at Hogwarts. The velvet sky is blanketed by the kind of stars you never see in London, for a start. Their rainbow colours twinkle like mirror balls as the light refracts and covers the vast space in little dots of colour. An enormous rainbow flag hangs in the middle of the courtyard and Sirius wonders at it. He remembers something about a rainbow flag from the _Gay News_ and gathered it had become a symbol of hope and defiance in dark times. Sirius knows things in the Muggle world are far from perfect, but he can’t imagine anything unhappy infiltrating the magical cocoon of Little Compton Street. Perhaps the Muggles might need rainbows, but Sirius hopes with every fiber of his being that the wizarding world won't. 

The thought leaves a strange taste in Sirius' mouth, like his pissed-up moment of satisfaction at not being an obvious target of violence in the Muggle world. As easy as it might be to hope that rainbows will never be needed in this warm, happy space, the bright colours make his heart kick and a tug of pride makes his eyes sting with an overwhelming surge of emotion. _Don’t be afraid_ , the air seems to whisper to him. Sirius wonders if from this moment on, he’s always going to be searching stormy skies for an arc of colour that promises a better time ahead. Maybe everybody needs the kind of promise rainbows offer, not just Muggles. There's a war coming, after all. The thought makes Sirius shiver and he looks around for James, who has wandered off towards a large, grassy expanse. 

“What’s this?” Sirius moves behind James, peering at the freshly painted sign next to him.

“Compton Common, apparently.”

A poster by a now empty stage promises drag performers every Thursday night and when his eyes adjust to the darkened space, Sirius can make out a couple of shadowy figures caught in an embrace. It makes his heart sing that there’s finally somewhere he can live, love and kiss anyone he fancies without worrying about Muggle police trying to arrest him for looking at a fit bloke across a crowded bar for a beat too long. He wonders if Compton Common is somewhere people go cruising like Hampstead Heath, but he finds, unusually, that he has only a fleeting desire to find out. James is warm and solid by his side, and tonight is their adventure. Padfoot and Prongs.

“Fancy a walk, Jamie?” Sirius winks at James, only half joking.

“Maybe.” James looks defiant, swaying close to Sirius as if to say _I dare you_.

The beat of the music around them crescendos and Sirius lifts a shaky hand to James’ cheek, touching it lightly. James leans into the curve of Sirius’ palm, closing his eyes as if he’s been waiting for the touch for such a long time.

“Let’s go dancing, love,” Sirius says, his words thick. As much as he wants to disappear into the shadows with James, he also wants to see all the things Little Compton Street has to offer. The night is young, and Sirius loves the wild, abandoned freedom of dancing like a tit to Muggle music. 

“Okay.” James opens his eyes, bright and eager. He grabs Sirius and pulls him into a tight hug, squeezing hard enough to hurt. Eventually he pulls back and makes his way through pathways lined with waxy candles suspended in mid-air. He comes to a stop outside the bar with the loudest music with the imprints of fairy wings glittering and sparkling on the walls. He looks up and reads the sign, his voice breathless and eager when he finally speaks. “The Sundowner. This is the place Jon mentioned.”

“Come on, then. Let’s go inside.” Sirius moves behind James and puts his hands on his shoulders. It takes all of his resolve not to pull James back into the circle of his arms. He didn’t realise until now how desperate he is to be able to do something so simple and innocuous. He's always exercised such caution in public spaces, his reckless streak not extending to Muggle bars and clubs because he's convinced it would be just his luck to end up doing something stupid that brings him under the scrutiny of the Ministry. The idea of even a short spell in Azkaban fills him with dread. His stomach clenches with hunger for the the pleasure of not overthinking a simple touch that could have you arrested in a Muggle bar. Here on Little Compton Street the heavy hand of the Ministry of Magic doesn’t cast its oppressive shadow over the cobbles and there's no place for the Muggle police in the wizarding world. There’s something so exciting about the possibility of _anything goes_ , Sirius' heart quickens at the thought of kissing another man, kissing _James_ on the dance floor. As the music spins, skips and thumps around them, Sirius is suddenly desperate to get inside, pushing open the door and following James into the club, the heat of hundreds of bodies caught in energetic dances a stark contrast to the biting air outside.

Because they’ve both had a lot to drink already, Sirius and James explore before going to the bar. The Sundowner is like nowhere Sirius has ever been before, and he wonders if this is what the new ‘super club’ the Muggles keep banging on about is going to be like. The club is larger than any of the other pubs they’ve seen, stretching up into the sky with multiple floors and a huge, outdoor terrace that Sirius and James venture onto, breathing in the atmosphere and the cool November air. Some parts of the club are shadowy enclaves, smoky and inviting, with people huddled together in private conversation and caught up in searing kisses. The music changes depending on the levels, but on every floor it pulses steadily, music vibrating through the walls and beneath their feet like a rapidly beating heart. There isn't any one constant theme to the different areas and the people gathered in every part of the club are an eclectic mix. It seems as though The Sundowner attracts mainly wizards and perfumed drag queens, but there are also handfuls of young, twenty-something witches, with buzzed hair and large, baggy white t-shirts with the names of Muggle bands splashed across the front, or slogans about feminism. There are people in all kinds of different clothes, from men in plaid and tight, white t-shirts to people sporting far more androgynous styles with splashes of berry-red lipstick across their lips and spiky, trendy haircuts. There are a handful of people with handkerchiefs and keyrings, dressed in head-to-toe leather and displaying the codes of the Muggle scene.

“That’s Muggle.” Sirius points out one of the men to James, drawing his attention to the handkerchief in the man's left pocket.

“A lot of it is.” James looks curiously at the man in leather and then turns to Sirius. “Why do you think that is?”

“No idea.” Sirius shrugs. “Probably because this place is so hidden. I bet I'm not the only one that went to Muggle bars for ages before finding out about it. Most of the clothes are Muggle too.” There’s the odd exception, but now he looks around, Sirius finds it’s true. There’s an enthusiastic embrace of all things Muggle, from the music to the fashion. There's always such an undercurrent of arrogance in the wizarding world that implies Muggles are lesser than wizards, like they don't understand half the things the world has to offer. _They understand this, though_ , Sirius thinks, defiantly. _They understand this better than we ever have_. The affection with which The Sundowner's patrons embrace all the Muggle trends, codes and songs of the era makes Sirius want to whoop and cheer. It gives Little Compton Street an extra layer of safety, because Sirius knows that somewhere so happily invested in Muggle culture is the last place on earth any of You-Know-Who’s lot would be minded to visit.

Sirius leans in to shout over the music, his lips close to the shell of James' ear. “Fancy a dance?”

“Yeah.” James grins at Sirius, dragging him onto the dance floor just as the notes of an electronic keyboard fade away, merging into a familiar strain of one of Sirius’ favourite songs. It filters through some unseen speaks, as if the club knows exactly what James wants to hear. Not for the first time, Sirius feels as though the place is welcoming them home, bringing two boys on the cusp of war onto a glittering dance floor where they can kiss away all their fears for tomorrow.

James' face is light and bright, his smile broad as he looks up at Sirius. James might not be much shorter than Sirius, but he still has to tip his head back a little to properly meet Sirius’ eyes. Sirius likes that more than he should. “Bowie,” James breathes. “Life on Mars.”

“Yeah.” Sirius moves closer, sliding his hands onto James’ waist. It’s oddly formal—like he’s stepping on a witch’s toes at the Hogwart’s Yule Ball—but he doesn’t know how else to signal his intent without potentially sending James running for the hills. The hands on the waist maneuver might be a bit school disco, but Sirius thinks it’s a nice, slow start to…whatever this is. Safe, not moving too quickly, giving James space to—

James surges up and pushes his hands into Sirius’ hair, pulling him into a mind-melting kiss that catches Sirius completely off-guard. His breath leaves him in a _whoomph_ , all the blood in his body descending south with a speed that leaves him dizzy. James’ mouth is hot and insistent, his kiss demanding and uncompromising. It takes Sirius a moment to respond because bloody James is a hot, feverish bundle of warmth in his arms and like a typical Gryffindor he’s just diving right in, giving Sirius an awkward, one-sided kiss, with the confidence of someone who knows damn well they're going to get a response. With a growl, Sirius pulls James closer and wraps an arm firmly around him, pushing his other hand into James’ shaggy tangle of hair. It’s more intoxicating than the finest Ogden’s, kissing James so openly and desperately on a dance floor full of heaving bodies as Bowie plays in the background. Sirius half expects someone to sternly break them apart, but when he realises no one gives two hoots, he gives himself over to the kiss completely.

Sirius parts his lips and accepts James’ kiss, giving him everything he has. The years they spent together lounging on Sirius’ bed, coming up with new spells and listlessly pouring over their school books flash through his mind. He can picture himself whooping with happiness as James would stretch his hand out and catch the Snitch, the Quidditch stands at Hogwarts erupting in a sea of gold and burgundy. He thinks of all the Muggles he’s lied to about everything from his name to the fact he knows how to do the kind of magic that doesn’t involve pulling a rabbit out of a hat. For the first time since he woke up damp, sticky and confused after a particularly hot dream about the Irish Quidditch team’s Beater, he feels completely, utterly free. There’s no need to push down the magic that pulses through his veins or the warm slide of it through his body as he reacts with pleasure to James’ touch. He doesn’t have to remember he’s supposed to be called _Steve_ or something that sounds less weird than Sirius to a Muggle’s ears. He doesn’t have to do anything except kiss and be kissed, and it’s simultaneously the easiest and hardest thing in the world.

Sirius’ heart beats soundly in his chest as James presses closer with a groan. James is already hard against Sirius’ body and it takes all of his self-control not to start grinding into James right there on the dance floor, his own cock aching and desperate for friction. He slides his hands down James’ back—there’s nothing safe about this dance anymore—and he stops moving to the music, responding only to the delicious sparks of pleasure that zing through his body as James kisses him, fierce, demanding and like maybe he’s wanted Sirius for all of this time too. Sirius doesn’t think he’s ever felt simultaneously so certain of anything, and so unsure about what to do next. This isn’t a one-night stand—or even if it _is_ , it’s not the same as the one-night stands that leave in the morning and never come back. James is too important for Sirius to lose just because he wants to get his dick sucked, and the thought that might very well happen is nearly enough to make Sirius pull back. _Nearly_. As foolhardy as his reckless hopefulness might be, despite his doubts, somewhere in the back of his mind, Sirius has confidence that he and James will always be _Sirius and James_. Whatever the fuck they end up doing, there’s a history between them and a dark, uncertain future that demands they fight side by side. It’s enough. It’s going to be enough to make things right again. It’s going to have to be.

James breaks away from the kiss first, his eyes shining and his lips plump. He shoves his hand into his pocket and extracts it, pushing a cold, metallic key into Sirius’ hand. He leans in and mouths a damp, breathless line of kisses along Sirius’ jaw. “They’ve got rooms at the Joiner’s. I took the liberty of grabbing one when I went to the loo.”

“Of course you did.” Sirius lets out a low bark of laughter, sliding his hand down to squeeze James’ backside. Technically they could just go back to Camden, but Sirius understands the impulse to stay. He isn't ready to leave the warmth of Little Compton Street either. The flat is messy with dirty socks, empty pizza boxes and the markers of hum-drum daily life. The fears for tomorrow are easier to keep at bay if going to bed with James is just another part of their magical night on Little Compton Street. Keep the party going, don't let the music stop. Sirius nuzzles James’ cheek and brushes his lips against his hot skin. “Promise me, Jamie. Promise me that whatever happens, we’ll be okay afterwards.”

“We’ll always be okay.” James pulls back to look at Sirius, his expression unusually solemn. “Always. I want to do this, and I don’t want to do it with anyone but you. Can’t we just be stupid and reckless for once?”

Sirius snorts. “Do you know us? We’re always stupid and reckless.”

James laughs and shoves Sirius lightly in the chest. “Come on then, Padfoot. Show me what it’s like.”

Sirius curses under his breath, adjusts himself in his too-tight trousers and follows James out of The Sundowner, back down the little cobbled street towards The Joiner’s Arms.

*

Seeing James naked and spread out on the bed is almost too much for Sirius, not least because he only went for a piss and was half expecting to come back to an awkward conversation about not doing this after all.

“You’re quick,” Sirius says, faintly. He allows himself a minute to take in the gorgeous sight of James, who oozes confidence as he palms himself slowly and gives Sirius his familiar, cheeky grin. He’s so beautiful. So fucking _lovely_. Sirius takes in the dark thatch of hair around the base of James’ cock and the thick, pleasing length of it. He lets himself really perv over the way James’ thighs flex as he strokes himself, the hard lines of his chest and the dusky peaks of his nipples. He really has arranged himself like a work of art on the rumpled white sheets. A couple of candles cause the shadows in the small room to jump and flicker over the cream walls and low-hanging arches, their tendrils reaching out as if to pull Sirius closer to the bed. 

“You’re also fucking gorgeous,” Sirius says, when it seems like James isn’t going to say anything. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

“I doubt it.” James laughs under his breath and gives the bed a _pat, pat_ with his palm, finally unfurling his fingers from his cock. “Come on, for fucks sake.”

“Okay, I’m coming.” Sirius bites back a giddy laugh at the implication of the words. Trust James to make Sirius start acting like a teenager. He rolls his eyes at himself and yanks off his t-shirt, chucking it next to the leather jacket he took off before he went to the bathroom to take a good look at himself in the mirror. He vaguely remembers having a conversation with himself along the lines of _what the fuck are you doing?_ but it doesn't seem important now James is naked and about as subtle as a Bludger to the head. Sirius unbuckles his belt and slides off his jeans and pants after kicking off his shoes and pulling off his socks. He rummages in the pockets of his jeans for the couple of sachets of lube he keeps with him just in case.

James sucks in a breath as Sirius dumps the lube on the bedside table. “Isn’t there magic for that?”

“Yeah, but.” Sirius shrugs and shoots James a quick smile. “I like things the Muggle way, sometimes.”

“Oh.” James takes in that information, a flicker of interest crossing his face. When Sirius is finally naked, he tugs Sirius close. “Want to fuck?”

“Right now?” Sirius laughs into a messy kiss, tasting the curve of James’ smile against his lips. Their teeth clack together and Sirius hopes that the fucking goes better than the kissing. He pulls away and sits back on his heels, settling in between James’ legs. “How horny are you?”

James raises an eyebrow and gestures to his prick. “Very. Why?”

Sirius slides his hands over James' thighs, not missing the shiver of pleasure that travels through James' body. “Horny enough to come twice tonight?”

James rolls his eyes. “Horny enough to come more times than that, if you’ve got the stamina.” He gives Sirius a smug look. “Maybe you haven’t been doing the right things if twice is all you can manage. You should think about—”

“—shut up, Jamie,” Sirius mutters. He takes James in his mouth without any further to-do, sliding his lips around the hard length of him, effectively cutting James off in his tracks. It does the trick because James makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat and stops talking, bucking into Sirius’ mouth. 

“ _Merlin_.” James pushes a hand into Sirius’ hair and clutches the sheets with the other, as Sirius does his very best to take James apart. He loves James—more than is probably wise, honestly—but he can’t half be a cocky little shit sometimes. This is Sirius’ way of letting him know in no uncertain terms that Sirius knows what he’s doing and he has plenty of tricks up his sleeve to make James come hard enough to forget his own name.

Apart from a few mumbled curses, James doesn’t say anything at all, his hips bucking up wildly enough that Sirius has to hold him down with his free hand. He uses the other to wrap around the base of James’ cock, alternating between deep-throating (like a pro, he thinks, proudly) and teasing James with his tongue and lips, sucking and sliding over his hard length. When he’s fairly certain James is close to losing his mind, he picks up the pace and with saliva-slick lips he takes James deep into his mouth and pulls him to a quick, efficient climax. The pulse of his orgasm seems to take James by surprise and he grunts, his hand sliding out of Sirius’ hair and dropping onto the sheets as his breathing comes in quick, shallow gasps.

“It’s not usually that quick.”

“I expect not. I’m very good at sucking cock.” Sirius slides off James, wiping his hand across his mouth. He takes in James, rumpled and delectable, spread out like a buffet free for the taking. It’s overwhelming, how his heart skips and trips for James. He wants him so much. He wants to be his friend, wants to protect him from everything that might be ahead of them, but most of all, right now, he just wants this. Sweaty limbs, an aching jaw and lips salty with the taste of James’ pleasure. Sirius doesn’t miss how James’ chest and cheeks are flushed with a combination of arousal and embarrassment and he moves up the bed, capturing James’ lips in a fierce kiss. 

“You’re too much, darling,” Sirius says, the second ‘darling’ of his lifetime leaving his lips as if it’s part of his everyday dialogue.

“That’s the second time you’ve called me that.” James raises an eyebrow at Sirius, the expression on his face warm and soft and the hot flush in his cheeks dissipating. The tension leaves his body and he stretches, eyeing Sirius. “Have you gone all camp on me? Do you do that after sex?”

“Piss off.” Sirius rolls his eyes and stretches out next to James. He’s still embarrassed that he was a dick about other gay men just because some of them don't fit the kind of stereotypes Sirius was raised to believe in. He should know better than to believe _any_ preconceptions he was raised with and he knows that the momentary relief about the fact people don't immediately read him as gay comes from a bad place. The kind of place his parents come from when they go on about pureblood politics and supporting You-Know-Who. “Nothing wrong with camp.” Sirius rubs a hand over his jaw, watching James. “I said there was, once. Stupid of me. I don't know what I'm on about half the time. It was a shitty thing to say.”

James shakes his head, brushing Sirius’ hair from his face. “It doesn't matter to me. I say a lot of shitty things.” His throat works. “I'm trying to do better.”

“Me too,” Sirius replies. He's not sure if spending the night in bed with his best mate is _doing better_ exactly, but he's not about to question it now.

“Darling.” James rolls the _ar_ and starts laughing almost as soon as he finishes speaking.

Sirius bursts out laughing and gives James a light shove in the chest, tackling him into another kiss. When they break apart, he looks into James' eyes and has to fight back all the things he wants to say. There's so much more than pet names resting between them. A whole history of building up to this moment and the wretched uncertainty of a future that neither of them can second-guess. It's all about living in the moment, Sirius supposes. That's all they have, for now. The now and the then. The tomorrow can wait until the sun comes up.

“It sounds weird when you say it.”

“Does it?” James frowns, even as his lips curve into a smile. “It feels weird to say it.” He surges up for another kiss. “I like it, when you call me that. Dunno why. It doesn’t seem odd. None of it does.”

“No,” Sirius says, his voice doing the fond thing it does sometimes when he's teasing James. It doesn’t feel odd in the slightest. Being with James feels like the most intimate, natural, _perfect_ fucking thing he’s ever done. As if everything they’ve ever been to one another has culminated in this one, brilliant moment in a tiny box of a room above a pub with a rainbow flag flying proudly over the door. “It doesn’t feel odd at all.”

“Can I blow you?” James shifts and slides his hand down Sirius’ belly which clenches under the touch. “Or…” he strokes Sirius slowly, his hand not wrapped firmly enough around Sirius to do much of anything but his loose fist drawing a guttural groan of pleasure from Sirius’ lips nevertheless. “This?”

“Yeah, that.” Sirius kisses James on the neck, his skin salty from the light sheen of perspiration on his skin. “Use lube.”

James mutters a spell, tightens his fingers and everything explodes into warm, slick, pleasure. “Better?”

“You’re such a twat.” Sirius pushes into James’ hand, his laugh breathless and unsteady. “That’s the first spell I’ve seen you do without a wand.”

“It’s the only one I can do without a wand,” James replies, proudly. He winks at Sirius. “I’m a bit of a wanker, honestly.”

“You can say that again.” Sirius pulls James into a hot, urgent kiss and helps James get the angle right as his large, strong hand takes Sirius right to the brink of pleasure.

 _I love you_ , Sirius' brain supplies in a dizzying moment at the peak of desire. _I love you so fucking much_.

Sirius sinks into the blissful sensation of James stroking him to completion, and knows that wherever they end up, those three words that he’s never said to anyone before will always be true. It should feel terrifying, but it doesn’t. Like everything else about the night, it just seems right.

*

Sirius goes out to get them some chips from one of the shops on Little Compton Street, which they share. They’re piping hot and sharp with salt and vinegar. When they finish eating, Sirius puts the greasy papers in the bin and opens one of the cans of lager he grabbed at the same time. It opens with a pop and a fizz and they drink it straight from the can, passing it back and forth between them.

It shouldn’t be this easy, to just sit and be naked with James, but it is. They talk about Quidditch, and the Order of the Phoenix, Minerva McGonagall’s new green velvet robes and Peter’s job selling ice-cream for Florean Fortescue. Neither of them mention Moony, the hollow ache in Sirius’ chest that his broken friendship with Lupin left behind not something he’s ready to talk about tonight. As he always does, James seems to guess as much, without Sirius having to change the subject or ask him to stop prying. They don’t mention Lily either, and Sirius can’t help but wonder if it feels peculiar for James to be with someone else when he knows Lily has so many of his firsts. He doesn’t want to bring it up though, in case it spoils the relaxed comfort of the night.

After a while, James presses against Sirius again, his lips damp and demanding against the heat of Sirius’ skin. His kisses take on a new urgency, as if he’s fighting against the morning or putting a firm end to conversations about war strategy and the uncertainty of the next few months. Sirius doesn’t have any complaints and he kisses James soundly until they’re both hard and panting against one another's lips.

“Now will you fuck me?” James pushes Sirius back lightly, his eyes dark and warm as he watches Sirius.

“You’re sure?” Sirius reaches for the lube, tearing it open with his teeth as he holds James’ gaze.

“Positive.” James tugs his bottom lip between his teeth, his eyes darting to the open packet of lube. “How do you want me?”

“Hands and knees? It might be more comfortable.”

“I don’t care what position I’m in, as long as we do it.” James gives Sirius a broad smile and gets into position, his enthusiasm obvious. “Get on with it.”

“You’re such a brat.” Sirius rolls his eyes, but he knows how desperately fond he sounds and expects from the wiggle James gives him, he hears it too. Sirius slicks his fingers and deposits a cold dollop of lube in the crack between James’ buttocks, which has him snorting with laughter.

“Sexy. You arse.”

“I try.” Sirius presses a kiss to the base of James’ spine and slides his fingers over James’ hole, rubbing and teasing at the rim of it. When he’s sure James is going to turn around and lamp him if he doesn’t stop playing, he slides a slick finger inside the tight channel of James’ body. It’s a lot, the way James clamps around him and the tight grip on Sirius’ fingers. “Okay?” Sirius presses another light kiss to James’ spine.

“Yeah. I thought you’d be bigger than that.” 

Sirius rolls his eyes, because naturally James is going to take the piss out of Sirius when he’s on his hands and knees with a finger up his arse. Bloody James. He bites the fleshy part of James bum lightly and then pushes a second finger inside James, crooking them until he knows from the way James’ sarky comments turn into grunts of pleasure that he’s hitting the right spot. He adds more lube, the squelch of it pleasing in a filthy, hot kind of way, and fingers James slowly open, taking in every last murmur of pleasure and bitten off curse.

When he’s quite sure James is ready, Sirius slicks his cock and positions himself, holding James steady. He nudges inside James, taking it slowly at first, waiting for James to protest or tell him to stop. When he doesn’t do either of those things, Sirius pushes all the way in and grips James’ hips, biting his lip and trying to think of unsexy things so he doesn’t come. James is so hot and tight, it takes Sirius’ breath away. He’s so desperate to move it takes every ounce of his resolve not to start fucking James senseless.

“It’s… _fuck_ …are you going to fuck me, then?” James sounds eager and breathless, his body clenching around Sirius. “Come on, come on.”

“You’re so fucking demanding.” Sirius doesn’t mind in the slightest. If James wants a good, hard, shag, Sirius is more than happy to give it to him. He presses his fingers against James’ heated skin and begins to move, shifting their position until James’ moans get louder. The _slap, slap_ of their bodies moving together, the groans of pleasure and the sound of James’ hand working over his own cock fills the quiet room. Their bodies move together intuitively, even as Sirius’ fingers slip on James’ sweaty skin. James smells so bloody good. The combination of the hot channel gripping Sirius' cock and the wild abandon of James giving himself over to the moment is almost more than Sirius can take.

Time slips away and it could be seconds, minutes or hours later when the overwhelming force of James’ orgasm takes Sirius by surprise. He slides from James with a hiss, nudging him over onto his back and straddling his chest. He slicks his hand with more lube and slides it over his cock, taking James’ chin in his free hand. Desire floods through him as he meets James’ eyes, drinking in the heat blooming in his cheeks, the way his lips look well-kissed, the light marks on his neck and the messy rumple of his hair. Sirius sinks into the pure, open affection in James' bright, eager eyes and sees everything he feels reflected back at him. _Want_ , love, desire. Magic flows through his veins and he can almost taste James’ magic too, warm and familiar on the tip of his tongue, like treacle tarts from Hogwarts or a hot glass of Ogden’s with cloves, lemon and a hint of brown sugar. The overwhelming surge of emotion leaves Sirius breathless and James doesn’t look away, not even for a moment. With a final, guttural sound that feels like it came from somebody else, Sirius comes over his own fingers, striping James’ torso with his climax.

“ _Merlin_.” With a groan, Sirius rolls off James and onto his back, panting as he tries to catch his breath. 

“I’ll say.” James pokes Sirius in the chest, tugging on his chest hair, because James is a child, a brat, and Sirius loves him so much it physically hurts. “I’m disgusting. Covered in come, sweating my bollocks off and my arse feels like I’ve been fucked into next Sunday.”

“Sorry.” Sirius gives James a sheepish smile. “Too much?”

“Nope.” James shakes his head. “I’d do it again, if I thought I could get it up.”

Sirius looks at his own cock which can hardly even manage an enthusiastic twitch at the thought. “I definitely can’t.”

“Sleep, then,” James says around a yawn. “I’ll shower tomorrow.”

Sirius can tell from the thickness of James’ voice that he’s already dropping off. He closes his eyes and presses his hand to his own chest, feeling the steady _thud, thud_ of his heart. The music from Little Compton Street indicates that somewhere outside there’s still a party going strong, but Sirius has no desire to go and join in, at least not tonight. It feels good, though. Knowing that somewhere, just outside the Joiner's Arms there are other witches and wizards kissing under a starry sky, as Little Compton Streets holds them close.

James starts to snore and Sirius laughs under his breath, casting a quick cleaning charm. He can't be bothered to shower either, so it's just going to have to do for now. He flicks his wand to yank the long-discarded duvet from the floor and pulls it over them both. He wraps his arm around James, breathing in the sweaty, musky scent of him and falls asleep to the sound of one of his favourite Muggle songs.

*

Sunlight streaming through the window wakes Sirius and he rolls over, watching James sleep. The sun’s rays catch his cheekbones, and he looks positively serene. It's only when a lazy smile stretches across his face that Sirius suspects James might not be sleeping after all. He prods James in the belly.

“Oi.”

“You’re so creepy, Padfoot.” James cracks open his eyes and yawns, wiping the sleep from them. “How long have you been watching me sleep?”

“About three seconds.” Sirius rolls his eyes. His breath is stale from last night’s booze and he’s not sure if he and James are back to _just friends_ or if they’re still friends that kiss. He decides to risk it, giving James a quick peck on the lips. 

James pulls away quickly enough that Sirius’ heart sinks. He rolls away from Sirius and grabs his wand, aiming it at Sirius and muttering a breath-freshening charm before doing the same to himself. With a grin, he pulls Sirius close and the sinking feeling in the pit of Sirius’ belly fades away. James’ kiss is warm, firm and it says _I don’t regret a single bloody thing_. 

“I’m sore all over.” James stretches, cat-like, his arms above his head as he rolls onto his back. He slides his hand under the duvet and gives himself a quick stroke. “Well, most places. I think this is still okay.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Sirius laughs and slides his fingers through the dark thatch of hair on James’ chest. “We should go, soon.”

“Yeah. I suppose so.” James props himself up on his elbow, looking at Sirius. “Fancy doing this again?”

“Little Compton Street?” Sirius nods, his heart too big for his chest. “I’m already planning to come back for those Thursday drag nights.”

“I’ll come.” James clears his throat and looks away. “If it won’t cramp your style.”

“I’m not sure I have much of a style to cramp.” Sirius leans in for another kiss. “You can come.” The unspoken elephant in the room hovers on the tip of his tongue, and he rubs his temple where a post-booze headache niggles just enough to be uncomfortable. “Won’t Lily mind?”

“I don’t know.” James frowns and stretches out again, staring at the ceiling. “Should I tell her?”

“It’s up to you.” Sirius honestly isn't sure he wants to be on the receiving end of Lily's wrath because she's bloody good at hexes, but he also knows he should have thought about that before snogging James in a gay bar.

“I think I should.” James tips his head to look at Sirius. “She’s pretty cool, Lily is. She knows I'm bisexual.” James pauses before continuing, as if he's unsure how to phrase what he wants to say. “She knows I’ve wanted this for a while.”

“Another bloke?”

James shakes his head. “Bit more specific than that.”

“Oh.” Sirius stares at James. “Was I...something you needed to get out of your system?” Sirius tries not to sound as if he would be bitter about it, even though would.

“No. It’s not like that.” James sighs and closes his eyes for a moment. “I just mean she's not...I don't know. Not traditional. Not in the way I expected her to be. It’s difficult, isn’t it? Love. I thought it would be so easy. Get married, have a couple of kids, tell them off for doing all the shit I used to do and then boom, before you know it, you’re forty and paying off a Gringott’s mortgage, trying to remember what it was like to be a teenager.”

Sirius honestly can’t imagine James as the person he describes. There’s something about his restless spirit that makes Sirius feel as though James will be forever young.

“Is that what this is?” Sirius knows what it is for him, even if he’s terrified to say it out loud. “ _Love_?”

“In a way.” James gives Sirius a steady smile. “Isn’t it?”

“Yeah.” Sirius’ heart kicks and thumps. “ _Yes_.”

“We’ll work it out,” James says. He’s so confident. So self-assured and comfortable in his own skin. The bashfulness from the night before has gone completely, and, somehow, just because James Potter says so, Sirius believes that maybe everything really will be okay. “I like it here. Little Compton Street is the best place I’ve ever been to in my whole life.”

“Me too,” Sirius replies. He presses close to James, kissing a bruise he sucked onto James’ neck the night before. “What time’s check-out?”

“No idea. I was pretty pissed.” James arches his neck for more kissing, his breath leaving him in a shudder of pleasure. “I reckon we’ve got enough time for blow jobs. Hand jobs, at least.”

Sirius slips his hand beneath the duvet to find James hot, hard and wanting. He pulls James into another searching kiss and decides that the outside world can wait for just a little bit longer.

_~Fin~_


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End Notes and playlist for Winter of '79

[](https://imgur.com/WfVMZpr)

In this fic, as with the other part of this series, I included multiple references to aspects of queer space, history and activism, specifically movements around the late sixties onward, in the UK, America and certain parts of Europe. Because I'm a massive geek, I thought I would list out those references and the moments in history or locations that inspired them in case any of this kind of detail is of interest to you. Please feel free to offer any of your own thoughts/contributions in the comments if you wish.

If you’re interested in the background inspiration to this story, in Little Compton Street (One Rainy Night in Soho) Harry and Draco discover a very different (largely abandoned) Little Compton Street through Sirius Black’s diaries. An extract from Sirius' diaries describing the night with James that is the focus of this story is mentioned in the Harry/Draco fic. Some of the references that crop up here are copied from the reference section which accompanies the Harry/Draco fic, but there are also a number of additional references relevant specifically to this Sirius/James story. If you want to see an artist’s interpretation of the way Little Compton Street looks in Harry and Draco’s time, check out this gorgeous art by LLAP115 [HERE](https://llap115.tumblr.com/post/178375995321/harrydraco-big-bang-fic-art-little-compton).

I have also created a Spotify playlist for this fic which can be found **[HERE](https://open.spotify.com/user/writcraft/playlist/7gVpIgU4PUQGlkwCKCC939?si=jqutgRUVTAORy6ISX9xQcw)**. All of the songs with the exception of the final one are songs which were big hits in the 1970s generally, and many of which are specifically from 1978/1979.

 **Decriminalisation of Homosexuality, 1967.** This offers some context for attitudes towards homosexuality in the Muggle world at the time this fic is set. Prior to 1967 it was illegal for two men to engage in any sexual activity, a crime which carried a maximum sentence of life imprisonment. The 1967 act was the first reform of legislation which had been in place since 1533 when anal sex between men was made a criminal offence, and 1885 when the offence was extended to all other sexual acts between men. The 1967 legislation only _partially_ decriminalised homosexuality, in that it required that any sexual acts between men must take place in private. It also fixed the age of consent at 21, significantly higher than for opposite-sex couples, which was 16. The age of consent for two men wasn’t reduced to 16 until 2001, although in 1979 a bill was brought before the House of Commons to reduce the age to 18. That bill was rejected. The crime of ‘gross indecency’ was used after 1967 to convict men who showed any affection in public, including kissing, winking or ‘soliciting.’ In fact, after the partial decriminalisation of homosexuality in 1967, studies have found that the aggressive policing of gay and bisexual men increased significantly and well-known gay bars were frequently raided, something that is alluded to a couple of times in this story. 

**London, 1979.** Britain in 1979 was generally in a state of economic turmoil. As Priya Elan writes of the era for _The Guardian_ in 2010, “[In 1979] Great Britain was in the midst of a catastrophic economic downturn. Rising inflation and unemployment had led to it being nicknamed “the sick man of Europe.” In London…the halcyon days of punk had faded and the streets were decked with rubbish. And into this dire situation came a new generation intent on glamourising their lives, which some likened to dancing on the deck of the Titanic.” The Winter of Discontent (1978 – 1979) was a period where impact of strikes and union action were keenly felt by the general public. This gave rise to widely reported macabre situations such as initiatives debated by Liverpool County Council around allowing people access to cemeteries to bury their own dead, to deal with the problem of striking gravediggers. Another often cited impact of the strikes was that bins were not collected, which led to rubbish piling up in the streets, including London, in areas such as Soho and Leicester Square. One of the photographs in the moodboard for this fic is an example of one of London's streets during this period. In terms of music which is a huge part of this 'verse, the nihilistic punk scene had energised a disaffected youth and offered an alternative, subcultural movement during the 70s, but the scene was on its way out by 1979, which is more commonly considered part of the post-punk era. People were looking for something to fill the void left by punk, something discussed below in relation to The Blitz Kids.

 **Margaret Thatcher.** Conservative politician Margaret Thatcher was elected in May 1979 which bought an end to a period where the Labour government were in power, led by James Callaghan. Callaghan continued to play a pivotal role in the Shadow Cabinet following the Labour party’s defeat by the Tories. Labour did not see another election victory until Tony Blair was elected in 1997, with a 'New Labour' that adopted a more centrist approach and moved away from the more socialist, union backed Labour Party of Callaghan's era. Thatcher’s government were in power during the peak of the AIDS crisis and they would go on to introduce Section 28, a part of the Local Government Act 1988 that impacted England, Wales and Scotland. The legislation stated that a local authority “shall not intentionally promote homosexuality or publish material with the intention of promoting homosexuality” or “promote the teaching in any maintained school of the acceptability of homosexuality as a pretended family relationship” and has had a deep, lasting legacy on LGBT people who attended schools during that period, as it was interpreted as restricting schools from talking about LGBT related matters at all. It led to isolation, shame, bullying and closeting of people of LGBT people during their school years and was the cause of multiple protests by LGBT activists. It was during a radio debate on Section 28 that Ian McKellen, so angered by the pro-Section 28 debate, came out publicly as gay. Section 28 was finally repealed in Scotland in 2000 and in the rest of the United Kingdom in 2003.

 **Little Compton Street.** Little Compton Street was a real place in Soho which connected Old Compton Street at its junction with Charing Cross to New Compton Street in 1896. You can still see the buried sign for the street under a grate but the street itself is no more. It has been blocked by an office block and part of the street became Old Compton Street. Because of the fact Compton Street has long had connections with (typically gay and bisexual male) space and the Little Compton Street universe explores disappearing bars/hidden communities, Little Compton Street struck me as the perfect location. The pubs Comptons of Soho (est. 1986, formerly The Swiss Hotel est. 1890) and the Admiral Duncan (est. 1832), which Sirius and James visit, are both well-known gay pubs on Old Compton Street. In 1999 the Admiral Duncan was the site of a nail-bomb attack by a Neo-Nazi.

[](https://imgur.com/ZFGFokF)

**The Soho Bookshop.** The bookshop/sex shop that houses the entrance to Little Compton Street is inspired by Soho Original Books on Brewer Street. It is also a general homage to all of the LGBT and erotic bookshops that existed in the Soho area over the years, and the book shops in London which are known for selling LGBT literature, most notably Gay’s The Word which was established in 1979, the year this fic is set in. Gay's The Word is still open today and is one of the only specifically lesbian and gay bookstore in the United Kingdom. It is located in Bloomsbury.

 **The Coleherne Arms.** The Coleherne in Earl’s Court which Sirius mentions was a popular gay bar frequented by people like Freddie Mercury, Kenny Everett, Mike Procter, Anthony Perkins, Rupert Everett, Ian McKellen and Derek Jarman. It was the UK’s first notable leather bar, providing a space for the leather scene which really began to take off in the 1970s and 1980s. The pub was frequently raided by police.

[](https://imgur.com/VNDGbWZ)

**source: charliedave via flikr**

**The Blitz.** This club, referred to briefly by Sirius, is a reference to the places that became pivotal to the New Romantics music scene which evolved out of Billy’s in Soho and The Blitz club in Covent Garden. By the late seventies punk was on its way out and it had left a subcultural void as well as a lasting impression on those who were on the periphery of the punk scene. A new, distinctly queer musical wave began to emerge at the very end of the 1970s that would dominate in the 1980s, and sites such as Billy’s and The Blitz were instrumental in the birth of this new musical movement. The quote below is an extract from Robert Elms's introduction to _'We Can Be Heroes: Punks, Poseurs, Peacocks and People of a Particular Persuasion'_ by Graham Smith, published in _The Guardian_ on 10 November 2012.

_“It started, as so many things do, in a clothes shop. PX, in Covent Garden, another wasteland yet to be colonised for upscale retail and tourist tat, had a lineage directly back to punk. Its chief designer, Helen Robinson, had been behind Acme Attractions, the cool King's Road counterpoint to Vivienne Westwood's steamy SEX. I was mooching about in there one day in 1979 when Steve Strange, f employed by Helen as a shop assistant, said that he and Rusty Egan – another face from the punk scene – were planning a "Bowie night" at a little place in Soho, starting the following Tuesday. I told Graham and we both decided to go along._

_“As we walked down Dean Street, rotten with rubbish from the strikes, and turned into Meard Street, where a brothel called the Golden Girl club shared a space with this subterranean cellar, little did we know that our lives were about to change. And so was just about everything else. The 1980s started a few months early on a Tuesday evening in Billy's.”_

The list of bands which can directly or indirectly be traced back to The Blitz includes: Spandau Ballet, Culture Club, Visage, Ultravox, Sade, Wham!, Bananarama, Blue Rondo A La Turk, Haysi Fantayzee and Animal Nightlife. 

[](https://imgur.com/Mbwoeek)

**source: Graham Smith/Youth Club/PYMCA. Clare Thom, Boy George, Michele Clapton. Coach trip to Margate.**

**Heaven.** When Sirius finds out about Little Compton Street the wizard he chats to mentions a new “super club” that’s expected to open soon. This is a reference to Heaven, which opened in December 1979 beneath the arches of Charing Cross station. Modelled on New York super clubs, this club has been a long-standing part of London’s LGBT nightlife. It is still open and is part of the G-A-Y group.

 **Joiner's Arms.** The name of this pub is taken from the name of a pub and nightclub on Hackney Road in East London. Although the chronology of the pub isn’t time-accurate for this fic (it was established as a gay venue in 1997), it was important to the Little Compton Street universe, particularly the later Drarry limb of the universe, to prominently feature a gay bar which had closed its doors by 2015 to address the impact of gentrification on LGBT spaces in London. A campaign to save the building led to a condition in planning permission for the new flats proposed on the site that they could only go ahead if they include a pub that will "remain a lesbian, gay, bisexual and transgender-focused venue for a minimum of 12 years." It is believed to be the first time that the sexual orientation of a venue’s customers has been included as a condition of planning approval.

 **The Sundowner.** The Sundowner club is named after Sundown Discotheque on Charing Cross which was the location for ‘Bang’ one of London’s first queer club nights which opened in 1976. According to the Sabotage Times, in a piece recounting the recent history of London’s gay clubs, “prior to the opening of Bang gay venues in London were either small members' clubs or...dives with postage stamp-sized dance floors.” The reason I chose this as a site for the first kiss between Sirius and James (and, in the later fic, as the site of the first kiss between Harry and Draco) is because over the 1967 Sexual Offences Act mentioned above. I wanted a space where gay men could freely kiss in public, something that would have been a dangerous thing to do in 1979, even though it of course still happened. The original materials advertising Bang included this sobering reminder of the legislation. In the Little Compton Street universe, there is no such criminalisation within the wizarding world, but homosexuality is ‘frowned upon’ and forced underground. This is expanded upon in more detail in the later Drarry fic which forms part of this universe.

[](https://imgur.com/v09QkoJ)

**Rainbow Flag.** The rainbow flag was designed by San Francisco based artist Gilbert Baker and was first used in 1978 as a symbol of pride. In 1978 the flag originally had eight stripes (the extra two removed due to the difficulties with finding the fabrics for those colours). That's why the flag in the art accompanying the Drarry fic in this universe linked above has eight stripes, a suggestion made by the artist, LLAP115 when we discussed how I wanted the fic to reflect aspects of LGBT history and activism.

 **Gay Pride 1979.** Relevant because this is the year the fic is set in, but also because Jonathan Ashton (see below) who Sirius and James interact with briefly, is wearing a Gay Pride 1979 badge. The first official UK Gay Pride Rally took place in London on 1 July 1972, inspired by the 1969 Stonewall Riots in New York, although there had been other marches previously. The early pride marches were political protests first and foremost, with a huge police presence. The number of police at the first march outnumbered the participants. Several sources suggest around 2000 – 3000 participants attended the march in 1979 but the police presence was still largely about policing the marchers, rather than protecting them. With these memories of recent history fresh in peoples minds the presence of police and military at pride events today remains a divisive issue.

[](https://imgur.com/zi63foP)

**Homophobic Violence.** Sirius mentions his fear of homophobic violence briefly in this fic, a very real concern for many at the time. The leaflet from Gay Pride Week 1978 mentions increasing attacks on gay people, including the attack on well-known gay bar the Royal Vauxhall Tavern (now a listed LGBT venue) by the National Front, who gained significant momentum during the 1970s. In the 1979 general election, the NF contested the largest number of seats of any insurgent party since Labour in 1918. Even though it failed dismally to secure anticipated seats, the National Front and its insidious rhetoric was very much part of the political climate in Britain during this era.

 **Johnathan Ashton.** The name of the person Sirius and James meet briefly when they’re in Little Compton Street was chosen as an amalgamation of the names Jonathan Blake and Mark Ashton. Both were founding members of Lesbians and Gays Support the Miners, the activist group which supported the UK's striking miners during the eighties. LGSM raised substantial funds for the miners and the support was reciprocated when mining unions lead the 1985 London Pride march. The 'Pits and Perverts' fundraising ball in Camden's Electric Ballroom, raising over £5000. Mark Ashton died from AIDS aged 26. Jonathan Blake was one of the first men the UK to be diagnosed with HIV and after refusing several early treatments, he is still alive and remains heavily involved with activism today. In the Drarry fic that is part of this universe, Jonathan Ashton is cited as being the founding member of the wizarding chapter of ACT UP, the AIDS Coalition to Unleash Power. ACT UP is the real name of an organisation founded by Larry Kramer in 1987 in New York, which had factions in major cities, including London and Paris. The London faction was founded by Peter Tatchell. The film 120 Beats Per Minute (2017) documents the Paris chapter of ACT UP. The organisation staged 'die-ins' at sites such as churches and places of political importance and used fake blood to raise awareness of the devastation caused by AIDS. Although the London faction disbanded in the 90s, they revived in 2012 and dropped half a tonne of manure on UKIP leader Nigel Farage's doorstep when he said people with HIV should be prohibited from entering the UK.

<[](https://imgur.com/EcHYM6W)

**source: ACT UP Oral History Project**

**Tom Robinson Band – Winter of ‘79.** A number of the songs on the playlist that accompany this fic have relevance to both the time period and were anthemic pieces of music that have stood the test of time in LGBT spaces. The song which gives the fic its title is from the Tom Robinson Band's 'Power in the Darkness' LP which contained multiple rock/punk anthems of despair and anger at the British political system, including Glad to be Gay was originally written by Tom Robinson for 1976 London Pride. It was first released in 1978 and because of its controversial and political lyrics, BBC Radio One refused to play the song, a decision which was subverted when DJ John Peel, widely recognised for promoting alternative talent, played the song.


End file.
